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		<title>First Things RSS Feed - Steven Lautermilch</title>
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		<copyright>Copyright 2025 First Things. All Rights Reserved.</copyright>
		<managingEditor>ft@firstthings.com (The Editors)</managingEditor>
		<webMaster>ft@firstthings.com (The Editors)</webMaster>
		<pubDate>Mon, 20 Jan 2025 16:56:17 -0500</pubDate>
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		<ttl>60</ttl>

		<item>
			<title> Full Moon</title>
			<guid>https://www.firstthings.com/article/1996/06/003-full-moon</guid>
			<link>https://www.firstthings.com/article/1996/06/003-full-moon</link>
			<pubDate>Sat, 01 Jun 1996 00:00:00 -0400</pubDate>
			
			<description><![CDATA[<p>  
</p> <p><em><a href="https://www.firstthings.com/article/1996/06/003-full-moon">Continue Reading </a> &raquo;</em></p>]]></description>
		</item>
		<item>
			<title> Eclipse</title>
			<guid>https://www.firstthings.com/article/1996/05/003-eclipse</guid>
			<link>https://www.firstthings.com/article/1996/05/003-eclipse</link>
			<pubDate>Wed, 01 May 1996 00:00:00 -0400</pubDate>
			
			<description><![CDATA[<p> You have taken away my names.
 
<br>
 Last night the loon was crying for you, one call
 
<br>
 after another, a ripple of clearest water
 
<br>
 virgin and pure, cut off from the source, a mouth
 
<br>
 of tumbled grief.
 
<br>
 The wind was looking for you. Searching
 
<br>
 the trees, scaling the tall pines and knotted
 
<br>
 salt oaks, the Spanish moss whispering, asking
 
<br>
 the roots
 
<br>
 where you have gone.
 
<br>
 And long after midnight,
 
<br>
 when what was left of the sun&rsquo;s looking
 
<br>
 glass showed its face, it hid its broken reflection
 
<br>
 in the clouds, the low long banks of fog,
 
<br>
 a scrap
 
<br>
 of used paper, old parchment, ashamed to be seen.
 
<br>
 How can I come to you, without a syllable
 
<br>
 of my own? Only this begging
 
<br>
 bowl,
 
<br>
 poor battered cup of my heart where once given
 
<br>
 to feeling
 
<br>
 now emptiness steals, catching at each new
 
<br>
 breath which, like the shore
 
<br>
 air over these waters, these sands,
 
<br>
 slips
 
<br>
 and runs away.
 
<br>
 A keel taking on water,
 
<br>
 sail luffing and spilling the wind,
 
<br>
 tiller awash in tide and wave
 
<br>
 you have set me adrift
 
<br>
 in the night where I float without compass anchor
 
<br>
 or star.  
</p> <p><em><a href="https://www.firstthings.com/article/1996/05/003-eclipse">Continue Reading </a> &raquo;</em></p>]]></description>
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		<item>
			<title> After a Dream of Clare and Francis of Assisi</title>
			<guid>https://www.firstthings.com/article/1996/01/004-after-a-dream-of-clare-and-francis-of-assisi</guid>
			<link>https://www.firstthings.com/article/1996/01/004-after-a-dream-of-clare-and-francis-of-assisi</link>
			<pubDate>Mon, 01 Jan 1996 00:00:00 -0500</pubDate>
			
			<description><![CDATA[<p> Alone at the edge of the sea 
</p> <p><em><a href="https://www.firstthings.com/article/1996/01/004-after-a-dream-of-clare-and-francis-of-assisi">Continue Reading </a> &raquo;</em></p>]]></description>
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